As I Saw Him Break Me
by SPNxBookworm
Summary: While on a case, Sam has a vision of Dean killing him, and in his mind, it was bound to happen sooner or later. (Written for SPN Reversebang on LJ)
1. Prologue

**Fandom/Genre:** SPN, hurt/comfort, angst, case!fic, gen, hurt!Sam, bigbrother!Dean  
**Characters:** Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Up until S02E14 'Born Under A Bad Sign'  
**Word Count:** ~10.6k  
**Warnings:** swearing, self – worth issues, suicidal thoughts.  
**Summary:** While on a case, Sam has a vision of Dean killing him, and in his mind it was bound to happen sooner or later.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Supernatural. It all belongs to our overlord, Kripke.

**Acknowledgements:**

I had a hard time figuring out what I was going to do for this particular piece. I kept hopping from one idea to the other and along with university related stuff, I was freaking out about not getting this done. But I did it! And that's only because of the following people:

**m14mouse.** While claims, my interest was immediately drawn to her art piece and I was super thrilled in knowing that I'd managed to get it! She has been an absolute darling and endured all my ramblings and last minute questions. You are a doll, hon. Thank you so much for putting up with me.

**walking_tornado.** She did the most amazing job in helping make this fic even close ot readable. I do not lie, it was a mess until she came along. Thank you for being an awesome beta and sending over the chapters to me at the speed of light. All the tips and lovely feedback made this fic even better.

The mods over at **spn_reversebang on LJ** for being super hardworking while hosting this challenge and being kind enough to grant me an extension when my exams got in the way of my original posting date. You guys are amazing! Keep it up!

**Chronic Potterphile.** This woman is my everything. We're practically soulmates. She has been an amazing friend, a big sister and just a very encouraging cheerleader when I had doubts on this fic. She is my eternal flail buddy. Thanks for being there, hon! *whispers* _You should seriously go check out her fics. I promise you won't be disappointed. _

**Author's Note: **

Hi! This fic is set about a week or so after episode 14 of season 2 – Born Under A Bad Sign. It is probably one of the first times I attempted a case fic. EEP. I applaud all who are good at case fics because, oh my gosh, this fic was unusually hard to write. There's a lot of angst and tension between the boys along with my weakness – hurt!Sam. I can't seem to leave him alone.

This was written for the SPN reversebang on LiveJournal. :)

I will be updating this fic once a week. :D

I do hope you all enjoy the fic! :D

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**Title: As I Watched Him Break Me.**

**Prologue**

Stunned, he looks down. A shaky breath escapes his lips as he eyes the alarming red on his hands; , freely flowing through his torso. His legs give out as momentum brings him crashing to the floor.

That's when the pain starts. And _holy fucking shit_ it hurts.

"Gah," he gasps.

Somewhere in his confusion, a gunshot is heard. And then the next minute, worried green eyes float in and out of focus in front of him.

"Sammy? Oh, God. Sammy, come on. Look at me."

Dean. The one person Sam knows he can count on. One of the few people he can't lose. One of the only people who truly trusts him.

The pain seems to numb and all Sam can think is _good_. He's probably dying. Pain usually means you're alive; the pain dulls because the body is shutting down.

_Basic skills 101, _Sam thinks, remembering the hunting lessons with his father.

His father: one man he never quite understood until now.

As darkness slowly invades his already hazy vision, Sam accepts his situation. He gets it. He could either be saved, or killed. He's glad he's being killed. This way he can't hurt anyone anymore.

Especially Dean.

He vaguely hears Dean calling out to him. "'S'all righ', Dean," he barely whispers.

"Thank you," he breathes out just before the darkness wins and he's pulled under.

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**A/N: **You can find the art post over on m14mouse's livejournal page.

Review? :)


	2. One: The Vision

**A/N: Thank you for the support, guys! :D I'm glad you all like this! Here's the next chapter. :) **

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**One: The Vision**

Dean grunted out of an uneasy sleep as the car hit a pothole, which jostled his arm against the door and caused pain to shoot up his shoulder. He hissed as he adjusted himself on the seat, gritting his teeth against the unexpected throb.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, visibly avoiding Dean's eyes.

Dean sighed. It had been two days since Meg had possessed Sam and used him as a meat puppet. Dean had tried to convince Sam that none of what happened was Sam's fault: it had been out of his control. Sam had nodded but had said nothing further.

They'd decided to lay low for a day at a motel near Bobby's place before heading somewhere else and getting back into the rhythm of hunting. When Dean had walked over to the driver's side that morning, Sam had adamantly refused to let Dean drive. He'd practically wrestled the keys to the Impala from Dean's hand before reminding his brother of his injured shoulder, courtesy of Meg.

Knowing that Sam wouldn't hear a word he said, Dean had gotten into the passenger seat, and had dozed off a few minutes later. Until the pothole.

"Dude, I'm all right. It's cool," Dean said.

"How in the - ? You know what? Never mind," Sam huffed irritably.

Dean frowned. Sam had been extra-bitchy recently, and had been taking it out on Dean.

Dean gritted his teeth. 'What?'"

"Nothing."

"Sam – "

"It's nothing, Dean. Let it be," Sam said sternly.

Dean held up his good arm in surrender as he quit trying to get his brother to talk. He knew Sam would open up sooner or later. And he was pretty sure he knew what it was about.

This was going to be an interesting trip.

Sam glanced repeatedly at the Impala as he paid for their motel room, worried about Dean. Dean was in pain right now because of him. Possessed or not, he'd shot Dean, and he'd literally jabbed his thumb into the wound a few hours later, possessed or not.

He knew Dean would never understand what that felt like, being possessed. Sam had been all but screaming at Dean to run as his arm had risen of its own accord to shoot Dean. Meg had just laughed, taunting him.

As 'Meg' had gone towards the end of the pier to check if Dean had been killed, Sam just prayed. Hoping to everything that Dean was all right. Not seeing Dean coming up out of the water had scared the shit out of Sam.

Sam jolted out of his thoughts as the manager handed him the keys to the room. He muttered a small 'thanks' and headed towards the Impala where Dean stood leaning against the passenger side door, left arm holding onto the elbow of the right.

"I'll get the bags; you head on inside," Sam said as he handed Dean the keys, looking slightly surprised when Dean didn't argue and promptly headed off towards the room.

_I hope he's okay_, Sam thought as he walked over to the trunk and gathered their belongings.

Walking into their motel room, his heart shattered as he closed the door, seeing Dean sitting on the bed with his eyes shut and his jaw clenched. Sam knew his brother's telltale signs. Dean was in obvious pain.

He deposited the duffels at the foot of his bed at the far end of the room, and rummaged through Dean's for the first aid box. He then walked over to Dean's bed and sat next to him, gently laying a hesitant hand on Dean's good shoulder.

Dean startled a little, and laughed weakly as he saw Sam. "Sorry. Must've dozed off," he lied.

"Let me see that," Sam asked quietly, motioning towards the wound.

Dean sighed but obeyed. He got off his shirt, and with a little help from Sam, took off his tee. Sam carefully took off the bandage that Jo had put in place, and sucked in a sharp breath as he saw the wound. Jo must not have had the time to suture it. And Sam hadn't had time to look over the wound since they had needed to lay low for a day. Plus, Dean had adamantly refused to let Sam to look at it, assuring him it was all right.

Obviously that had been utter bullshit.

"Sam –"

"No, Dean. Just…let me stitch it up. It could get infected otherwise."

Dean nodded and Sam got to work. He opened up the first aid box, taking out a needle and some thread meant for stitches. He hoped Dean didn't notice how long it took him to get the thread through the eye of the needle because of how much his hands shook.

After cleaning the wound with betadine and peroxide, Sam made the first stitch. His hands shook horribly. Every few seconds, he'd take deep breaths, willing himself to do this right. Every time Dean would wince or grit his teeth, Sam would profusely apologize. The memories never left Sam. He kept seeing himself shooting Dean, digging his thumb into the wound as he punched Dean over and over again.

It took longer than necessary, but it was done. Sam then covered the now closed wound with a bandage after cleaning with betadine again before packing everything away and walking over to Dean's duffel to put the box back in.

"Sam what's going on?" Dean asked as he put first his tee and then his shirt slowly back on.

Sam avoided Dean's question as he took his laptop out of his bag, carefully set it on the small table in the room, and turning it on.

"Sam, answer me. Don't think I didn't notice what happened just now. Your hands never shake when fixin' up a wound that either of us have, Sam."

Sam ran a nervous hand through his hair. He couldn't meet his brother's eyes. Especially after the hint of fear he'd seen in them when he'd been possessed.

"Sam – "

"You won't get it, Dean! You don't understand," Sam said, looking helpless.

Dean's expression softened. "Make me, then."

Sam sighed as he sat down at the foot of his bed, his head in his hands. "I know you think I didn't do this to you. But I did. Nothing can change that. You saw _me_ shooting you. You felt _me_ throwing punches at you. Not Meg."

"I know how you feel, Sam, but that wasn't – "

Sudden anger rose up in Sam. "No," he snarled. "Stop, alright?! You do **not** know how I feel. No fucking idea, man. You don't know what it's like to be possessed. So, don't you tell me you know how I feel."

"You know what? Fine then. I'm staying out of this. I've tried to tell you this isn't your fault, Sam. And I'll keep telling you that. It's you who doesn't get it," Dean snapped as he picked up his jacket and opened the motel room door.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, feeling slightly guilty for his outburst.

"Out," Dean said as he slammed the door shut.

Sam groaned as he held his head in his hands. He was just making this harder for himself. He wanted Dean to understand. And for that, he needed to properly explain how he felt, not blow up at his brother. He sighed. It was so hard to stop thinking about what had happened. He knew he was going to have nightmares for a while.

As Sam made to get up, a sharp jab of pain ran through his temples. He grunted as he sat back down. The pain intensified and turned into agony. Sam fell to his knees, clutching his head.

"Dean," Sam gasped, wanting his brother here.

He knew exactly what this was, and as stupid as he felt wanting it, he didn't want to go through this alone.

The room around him morphed as the vision began to play.

_A woman stood at a small stove in the corner of what appeared to be a caravan. Humming to herself, she stirred the liquid in the pot. A sharp knock on the door startled her, making her drop the spoon. _

_Looking annoyed, she walked over to the door (which had a poster stuck to it) and opened it. _

"_No," she said as she started walking backward, a look of horror on her face.._

_An old man, probably in his mid-sixties walked towards the woman, a serrated knife in his hand. _

"_Please, no. Stop. You can't…you're not…NO!" she stammered as the man got closer. _

_She had no escape as she backed into a corner. _

_An excruciating scream rang through the air as the knife plunged into her torso and twisted. She dropped to the ground, and a pool of blood grew underneath her. _

Dean wished his brother would stop feeling guilty. But this was Sam. And Dean knew his brother well enough to know that it would be a while before Sam accepted it. And he shouldn't have gotten pissed off at Sam for his outburst.

It was understandable for him to be angry, because Sam was right, in a way. Dean hadn't been possessed, so he wouldn't _really_ know what it felt like.

Intending to head to the bar, Dean reprimanded himself. He couldn't be drinking this early in the day. And besides, Sam would flip. He knew how much Sam hated that Dean used drinking as a coping mechanism as opposed to talking it out.

Not wanting to make it harder for his brother at the moment, Dean turned around and headed back towards the motel.

On reaching the motel room, he knocked on the door, hoping Sam wouldn't be pissed. No one opened the door.

"Sam?" he called out, knocking harder. No reply.

Cursing under his breath for not having snagged the motel room keys, Dean took out his lock pick kit and within seconds, he had the door open. The scene that met him sent his heart into his throat.

Sam lay sprawled at the foot of the two beds, hands clutching at his head, breathing heavily.

"Sam?!" Dean slammed the door shut and rushed to his brother's side. "Hey, hey. It's me. Come on, what's wrong?"

"De'?" Sam whispered. Dean heaved a sigh of relief as Sam slowly squinted up at him, pain lines evident around his eyes.

"Vision," Sam explained as he slowly sat up with Dean's help.

"Dude, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bolted," Dean said. He knew how bad it got for Sam. It frustrated him to no end that he'd always sit helplessly just trying to reassure Sam that he'd be okay while the vision literally attacked him.

Dean got up and took a bottle of water out of his bag and walked back to Sam. "Here, slowly, okay?"

Sam nodded and then winced, as though the movement hurt. It probably did.

A while later, Sam felt a little better and Dean waited patiently to know what Sam had seen. What he didn't expect was Sam getting unsteadily to his feet and wobbling over to the table where he'd placed his laptop.

Dean frowned as he walked up behind Sam to see what the kid was typing up.

_Caldwell Carnival._

"Sam, what – "

"A woman died. There was a poster of a carnival," Sam immediately spoke. In a few minutes, Sam apparently got what he needed as he turned off the laptop and walked over to his bag to pull out a map.

Dean watched in bewilderment, unable to speak.

"It's only some three hours away. Let's go," Sam said.

"Wait, hold up. _Let's go?_" said Dean, incredulous.

Sam looked annoyed, as though he couldn't fathom why Dean didn't seem to understand. "Yes, Dean. We need to leave."

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Sam, we just got here. Can you hold up for a fucking second? You just had a vision, which by the way, you have told me nothing about. You're barely walking without falling to your feet and you want to leave without even knowing what we're walking into?"

"Dean. That woman is gonna die. Hell, I don't want this, but she could already be dead. I can't…we need to help her. I saw this woman get stabbed, okay? I just…I can't not do something knowing that I could probably be the reason between someone living and dying. You don't wanna come? Don't. But I'm leaving."

"Sammy – "

"No, Dean. I know we're walking in blind. But isn't that what we always do with these visions? They mean something, Dean. It could probably be another one of those kids. People like me. I need to know," Sam said grimly as he picked up his bag and headed out the door.

Dean took in a deep breath, trying not to let all of this overwhelm him. He didn't want Sam to know how much all of this was scaring him. His father's last words still rung in his head. He definitely wanted to save Sam.

But what if Sam…

_No. _Dean told himself. Sam was not evil. He was sure of that.

But…God forbid, if it did come to killing him, would he be able to?

Dean tried not to dwell on that, like he'd been doing for weeks now, and picked up his bag before following his brother out the door.

**XXX**

The carnival Sam had found was apparently on the outskirts of a very small town, three hours away from the motel where they'd just stopped at. Even with the tension between them, Sam couldn't help but smirk at the irritated look on Dean's face.

It had been a battle over who was going to drive the car. Sam didn't want Dean to drive because of his hurt shoulder, but Dean wasn't having it. In the end, Dean won.

But just because he won, didn't mean that he was happy. What Dean hadn't realized was that the carnival was set in an open grass field.

Dean hated driving on grass or mud. Basically anything that wasn't asphalt. It _hurt_ 'Baby' apparently. As Dean parked on the edge of the sandy road (very careful not the touch the grass) Sam opened the door and stepped out, gazing towards the mass of colour a few feet away from them.

A number of caravans stood at odd distances from each other, all painted with vivid, bright, eye-catching colours. People of all ages milled around outside the caravans. Children ran around, laughing and squealing at one another, happiness on their faces. A group of older people sat in one corner, content within themselves. Middle aged people stood around, making food while sitting outside their wagons or practicing tricks.

Sam stood fascinated, wondering what it would be like to be a part of this. Though they must move around a lot, they seemed like one big stable family. Even with Dean ever-present, that stability was something Sam had rarely ever felt.

"Wow," Dean commented, and Sam rolled his eyes.

Looking back towards the crowd, the only thing out of place was the 'do not cross' police tape around the wagon closest to them, to their right. Adjusting his jacket, Sam followed as Dean huffed a breath and started walking towards the guard standing there.

Sam gulped as he eyed the police tape once more. He really hoped this wasn't related to his vision.

Showing their badges, which Dean had snagged before they'd gotten out of the car, they ducked under the police line and approached the officer that had just spotted them.

"Feds?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. We were in the area, got a call to check this out. I'm Agent Rogers, this is Agent Romanoff."

The officer shrugged and motioned behind him to another man wearing uniform. "Sheriff's over there," he said.

Sam nodded and thanked the officer and then he and Dean made their way over to the Sheriff.

Sam and Dean introduced themselves once again and the sheriff then held out a hand to Sam who shook it. "I'm Sheriff Walters." He then walked over to the caravan, let Sam and Dean enter.

A female, probably in her late twenties, brunette lay dead in a corner of the caravan. Sam's breath hitched.

_They were too late._

"So, what's the case here?" Dean asked.

The sheriff leaned on the door way, one leg resting on the stair. "Her name's Wendy. She was the tightrope artist for the carnival, with her fiancé."

"So, do you know who knifed her?" Sam asked, examining the wound.

The sheriff shrugged. "Nope. There's not much evidence at all yet. We're still verifying alibis. Right now everyone here's a suspect."

"No witnesses?" Dean asked.

"Unless you count the bullshit story her fiancé cooked up, no. There's no witnesses."

Sam frowned as he left the body and joined Dean and the sheriff. "What story?"

The sheriff pointed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating a man sitting on a small wooden stool, a short distance away from the caravan. "Ask him."

As the sheriff walked away, Sam and Dean approached the man. He looked to be in his late twenties, jet black hair cut short, and a very prominent but old looking scar above his left eyebrow. He didn't even seem to realize someone had approached him and he jumped violently when Dean gently touched his shoulder.

"Woah, take it easy," said Dean.

"Sorry," the man muttered, looking distracted.

Sam held up his badge. "What's your name? We heard you saw what happened."

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm Martin Woods. So, are you two here to laugh at me, too?"

"Do we look like we're laughing?" Dean asked.

Martin seemed to analyze his company for a minute before sighing and running a shaky hand through his hair. "I…he's supposed to be dead, man. I don't get it."

"Who's supposed to be dead?" Sam asked, impatient.

"My…my father. He…he's the one that killed Wendy. I saw it all happen. See, I was part of a different carnival crew before, but I was treated like dog shit. This one day, my carnival was in the same town as Wendy's. We met, spent time together. This place—they accepted me. Even though I was from a different community. So, I decided to leave.

"My dad, well, he didn't approve of Wendy. And I, well, I ran. Wendy's carnival was leaving town the day before ours and I hitched a ride. I didn't want to be a part of something where I wasn't treated like a human being. This place," Martin gestured around the area, looking at the people around, "these people? They trusted me. They let me join them. They gave me an adoptive family, y'know?"

"How is this related to your father?" Dean questioned, looking restless.

"About half a year into being with this carnival, I found out my dad had passed away. And that my previous family already had the funeral without me. I mean, the man may have been a jerk but he was still my dad. It was only because of Wendy that I didn't…I didn't go back. I felt like I'd abandoned my home, y'know? Even if I was never treated like I belonged there. Then I saw…I saw my dad stabbing Wendy. I don't know how it's possible, but I know it was him."

Sam gave Dean a calculating look before thanking Martin. Both then started walking back towards the Impala.

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, looking puzzled. "I don't know man. I don't think this is a simple case, Sam. You had a vision. There's got to be something else he – " Dean stumbled to a stop as he walked headlong into a man, having not paid attention to where he was going.

Before Dean could apologize however, the man tossed his chestnut colored hair and from beneath a tanned complexion his dark eyes filled with loathing as he glared at Dean. "You're not welcome here. We don't consort with people like you. You better watch your step."

Dean stared after him as the man walked away, stunned.

"Hey, sorry about that," came a voice from behind them.

They turned around to see a young man, probably around Sam's age, with brown hair and child-like grey eyes. His chest seemed to be covered in some oil. He saw Dean staring and laughed.

"Don't worry. It's to protect me from the fire. My job is basically to play around with fire, juggle things that are on fire, stuff like that. Anyway, I'm Tim. Sorry about Bryce. He's…he's not a very friendly guy."

"You can say that again," Dean muttered, glancing in the general direction of where Bryce had disappeared with disgust.

Tim smirked. "So, you guys are here for the Wendy thing? Man, she was awesome. It's sad to see this happening," he said, his face falling.

"I'm sorry about your loss," Sam voiced his sympathy.

Tim nodded, looking morose "Do you believe Martin?" he asked

Tim pursed his lips, looking indifferent. "I don't know. Do you think he's lying?"

Tim shrugged. "I don't know, either. He doesn't socialize as much. But he's a good guy, I guess."

A shout rang out for Tim and he turned around. "Coming!" he yelled.

He then looked to Dean and Sam. "Sorry, guys. I gotta go. I'll be here if you need any help. Anything to find out who did this to Wendy. See ya around!"

He then ran off, skipping every few steps.

Dean looked amused. "Weird kid. Kinda like you," he commented, grinning at Sam.

Sam threw a bitch face at Dean, and walked towards the Impala.

"What the hell is going on here, Dean?" Sam asked as he opened the passenger side door.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean spoke as he slid into the car.

"But we'll find out."

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**Review? :) **


	3. Two: Road Block

**A/N: Thank you so much for the support, everyone! I'm thrilled you all seem to like this! Sorry this update is a day late. With university stuff around me, I totally forgot to update. I apologize. **

**Enjoy! One more chapter to go after this :) **

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**Two: Road Block**

Grumbling under his breath, Dean squinted against the harsh light that shone on his face from the motel room window opposite his bed. He tossed and turned for a few minutes before giving up on getting a few extra minutes of sleep. Yawning widely, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and then proceeded to knuckle his eyes.

The sound of tapping keys reached his ears and he looked over to see Sam sitting at the small table in their room with his eyes fixed on the screen. Dean frowned as he got a good look at his brother. The dark lines under Sam's eyes deepened as he squinted at the screen. Three cups of coffee littered the table instead of the usual two. One for Dean and now, apparently, two for Sam. Dean sighed, realizing his brother probably hadn't slept much over the course of the night, and when Sam brought his hand up to rub his eyes, it pretty much convinced Dean that Sam hadn't slept at all.

Deciding to ignore it for now and confront Sam later, Dean yawned again. "What time is it?" he croaked.

Sam glanced at his watch and said, "Eight thirty. You're up early."

"Hey, I'm always up early. It's you who thinks that 5 am is a good time to be up and bustling about. It's practically night."

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes.

Shaking his head in fondness, Dean picked out clothes from his duffel, laid them out on the bed and headed to the bathroom to clean up.

About forty minutes later, he headed out with a towel wrapped around his waist, thinking that Sam would have been done with his internet surfing by now. As he exited the bathroom however, it was as though Sam had never left his seat. He was still hunched over his laptop, a look of concentration on his face.

Dean quickly got dressed. This was getting ridiculous. Sam had hardly slept these past few weeks ever since Dean had revealed what their father had said to him, and, after the possession, it had gotten worse.

Dean walked over and promptly closed the lid of Sam's laptop.

"Dude, what the fuck?!" Sam exclaimed.

"I'm gonna get right to the point. Did you even get any sleep last night, Sam?" Dean asked, stern.

Sam glared at Dean before dropping his gaze, suddenly not meeting Dean's eyes. "I slept, okay? Don't worry about it."

_Lies._ Dean thought.

"Really?" Dean asked, voice now soft as he pulled up a chair opposite Sam.

Sam didn't answer as he absently twirled a pencil around his fingers.

"Dude, I know this case is bothering you. And I know I don't get how bad the whole fiasco with Meg was, okay? But man, you need to stop blaming yourself for this crap. It wasn't your fault. Okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Hey," Dean consoled as he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We'll figure this out, okay? Like we always do."

**XXX**

"So nothing?" Dean asked, incredulous.

Sam shook his head as he parked the car on the side of the road. They'd decided to visit the carnival again, try and question other people, look for an explanation. "Nope. No electrical storms, no cattle mutilations, nothing. Nothing to even indicate that there's someone like…well, me here," Sam explained as he exited the car.

"But how is that possible? Your visions always point to one of those kids right? They have up until now," Dean stated.

Sam ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I don't know, okay?! I just…I feel like there's more to this case. There's something we're not seeing. Something that's right in front of us. And it's bothering the hell outta me."

Dean looked Sam directly in the eye. "Don't worry. We'll figure this out."

Dean started walking towards the numerous wagons set up in the grassy field. There seemed to be one new addition to the scene. An enormous tent had been put up at the far end of the field, probably where the circus was going to be held.

The people around the caravans appeared to be fewer than last time. Some were probably practicing in the tent.

Admiring the scenery around him, Sam walked right into someone who stumbled to the ground.

"Whoa, sorr – " Sam's words caught in his throat as he realized what he was looking it. The hand he had extended to help was immediately withdrawn and he stood rooted to his spot.

The man in the clown costume looked offended as he picked himself up. "Can't even help someone get to their feet," the man grumbled as he walked away.

Sam gulped, mentally shaking his head. He needed to get over this irrational fear. He looked ahead of him and realized Dean was already talking to someone. Thankful that Dean hadn't noticed what just happened. Sam straightened his jacket and walked over to his brother.

Just as Sam neared him, Dean thanked the woman he'd been talking to and turned around. Sam raised his eyebrows in curiosity as he stopped in front of his brother.

"Well, there's never been a weird fire. And no one has been killed in any fire for that matter," Dean said, frowning.

They walked around for thirty minutes, asking and interrogating anyone they could find. Some were not as helpful and kept to themselves while others welcomed the brothers with smiles and answered most of their questions. But by the end, they still couldn't pinpoint what exactly was going on.

Sam glanced at Dean who looked just as annoyed and let down as he felt.

Not knowing what else to do, Sam suggested they head back to the motel. Dean agreed. In about twenty minutes, Sam parked the car in front of their motel room.

The next few hours went by with Dean aimlessly flipping through channels on the small television in their room while Sam sat on his bed, trying to scrounge up clues or any indications of the yellow-eyed demon around the area. Sam glanced at the window, watching darkness envelop the skies as the sun disappeared.

Dean groaned in frustration and turned off the television. "You find anything, Sam?" he asked as he buried his face in his hands.

Frowning when Sam didn't answer, Dean said, "Dude, did you fall asleep?"

A pained whimper made him turn around and what he saw made him rush to his brother's side, the television remote landing with a muffled thump on the carpeted floor. Sam was curled up in between the two beds, his hands clutching tightly at his head.

"De–" Sam gasped.

"Fuck," Dean muttered, feeling helpless. "It's okay, Sam. Come back to me, man."

He laid a firm hand on the back of Sam's neck, hoping that the familiar gesture would help.

Dean muttered small reassurances as he held onto his brother, preventing him from listing sideways and hurting himself unknowingly. He hated when Sam had visions like this, when Dean could only sit by and wait until Sam snapped out of it. It scared the living shit out of Dean. He had complete faith in Sam and knew that his brother would never become a killer like those other psychic kids. But that didn't mean that Sam was out of danger. Dean could only hope that he'd be able to save his brother.

Because he damn straight wasn't going to kill him.

A surprisingly strong grip on his hand snapped Dean out of his thoughts. Sam had a desperate and agonized look on his face.

"Dean," Sam said in a strained tone.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replied, knowing that there was no way Sam was going to stay in the motel.

**XXX**

Dean kept shooting worried glances towards Sam as he drove as fast as he could back towards the carnival. Sam was still pale and his hands shook slightly. Dean would usually make Sam rest a while after a vision because it always took a toll on him, but then there were moments, like this, where Sam would be adamant, and Dean knew that Sam would hold himself guilty if they couldn't save the people in his visions.

The impala screeched to a halt beside the caravans. As Dean and Sam got out, sounds of people yelling reached their ears. Dean looked towards Sam and knew that they both were thinking the same thing.

Dean and Sam quickly made their way towards the source of the noise. A few people were rough handling a man who looked to be in his late thirties while another crowd stood in a circle around someone on the ground.

Dean walked pushed past the people in the circle and felt his heart sink.

Sam's vision had come true. Bryce laid dead on the ground with a pool of blood underneath his forehead. He looked back towards Sam and shook his head, and felt his heart clench at the broken look on Sam's face.

Dean looked back towards Bryce and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone disappear behind one of the caravans.

Thinking it could be the killer, Dean sprinted towards the caravan. He spotted a pair of legs disappearing behind another wagon and quickly followed.

A flash of metal as he got to the edge of the wagon made Dean instinctively stop— but not in time. He felt a sharp blow to his chest. He gasped in pain and went to his knees, struggling to breathe. He coughed a few times and struggled to see who his attacker was as he tried to blink away tears of pain. He slowly got to his feet. A glint of silver on the ground caught his eye and he knelt back down. He picked up the object and realized it was a bracelet of some sort. A small circular metal band with a name engraved in the center.

_Jenna_

Confused, but knowing this could mean something, Dean pocketed the bracelet and slowly made his way back to the scene of the crime.

By the time he got there, officials were loading Bryce's body into the back of an ambulance and the man in his late thirties was being escorted towards a police car, handcuffed.

As Sam spotted Dean he ran over to his brother, a look of worry on his face. "Where the hell did you go?"

"Thought I saw who did this and ran after him. Pretty sure he had a hammer. That's what you saw right? Bryce getting hit in the head with a hammer?" Dean asked as he absently rubbed the sore spot on his chest.

"Yeah but, what happened to you?" Sam asked.

Dean waved it off. "I'm okay. Whoever did this swung the hammer at me. Didn't quite manage to dodge it."

Sam frowned. "But how is that possible?"

Dean gave Sam a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"The guy the police just escorted? He's the guy I saw kill Bryce. But he was here the whole time when you disappeared. He couldn't have attacked you."

Dean felt even more confused. "What are you trying to say, Sam?"

Sam pursed his lips as he said, "I'm trying to say that the killer is someone else. Not the guy they took. I knew something was off here. The look on his face, Dean. I could tell that he had no idea what was going on."

"Well, you can count me into that category. I have no idea what's going on either," Dean said. He then pulled out the bracelet. "Do you remember seeing this somewhere? I think our guy dropped it."

After examining it, Sam handed it back with a frustrated look on his face. "I don't know," he said. "I can't remember."

Dean laid a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder as they walked back towards the Impala. "I know this is bothering you, Sam. But we'll figure this out. We always have."

Sighing when Sam still seemed to be lost in thought, Dean said, "Okay, so let's go through what we have."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, before we do that, get this. I'd found this while trying to look for connections between anyone we saw here. Apparently Martin and Bryce, they were involved in some sort of bank robbery a few years ago and this woman ended up being shot before they escaped. But they didn't get sentenced because of lack of evidence."

Dean frowned. "How's that supposed to help us?"

Sam shrugged. "I have no idea, man. Just telling you 'cause I remembered it just now."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, so we have what? Two people dead, a bracelet, some rumor about a bank-robbery, and a dead guy killing his daughter-in-law."

Sam pursed his lips as he nodded. "And…that gets us nowhere, Dean," he said, dejected. "Let's just get back to the motel."

Sam held out his hand silently for the car keys.

For once Dean didn't argue and handed it to him, making his way to the passenger's side.

Dean knew Sam was beating himself up about what just happened. He knew that shattered look on Sam's face.

He just wished Sam knew that it wasn't Sam's fault that they couldn't save someone.

But then again, Dean didn't know what it felt like to watch someone die and not be able to save them when you knew what was going to happen.

A tense silence filled the car as Sam started it up and turned it back around to their motel.

**XXX**

_2:23 am._

Sam laid on his bed sighed as he glanced at the clock, and then turned towards the wall. Dean had done all he could to reassure Sam that none of this was his fault, and Sam wanted to believe him. But he just couldn't because recently, everything around him seemed to be going to shit.

He couldn't sleep without having nightmares of himself shooting Dean or slicing that poor hunter's throat. Meg had made sure that Sam was aware of what was happening when he's been possessed.

Sam had felt disgusted, helpless, and ashamed. He'd screamed in horror when Dean had fallen off of the edge of the pier when Meg had shot him. And when Meg had made him look over the edge and Dean hadn't come up, Sam had been so sure that he'd killed his own brother.

He would never forget how that felt.

Sam sat up in bed and rested his back against the headboard. These visions meant something. He wanted to save these people. Dean would never understand, but Sam felt like he could make the evil in himself go away if he saved these people. That way, he wouldn't turn bad like many of the 'special kids' they'd encountered.

Dean's words, a confused and hurt echo of their father, kept coming back to him.

_He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered, and that if I couldn't, I'd…_

_That I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy._

And with what was happening now, the number of people that kept dying because of him, the fact that Dean was hurt and wounded because of him, Sam wouldn't blame Dean at all if he had to kill him.

To be honest, Sam would welcome death at this point.

He just didn't want this anymore. Dean might think that Sam would never go dark side, but with every person Sam failed to save, that's all Sam thought of. He was definitely going to end up doing something horrible, something worse.

Worse than shooting his own brother.

The possibility terrified him.

Shaking his head against the barrage of negative thoughts, Sam shut his eyes, hoping to fall asleep.

He wished they'd figure out this case soon.

Sam eventually fell into an uneasy sleep filled with images of Dean being shot, interspersed with flashes of the nameless faces of people that had died because he couldn't save them.

* * *

**Feedback is much appreciated :D **


	4. Three: Dean, Thank You

**A/N: Eeep! I'm so sorry, everyone! I forgot to update this. It completely slipped my mind with all the course work in university this week. I apologize. Here's the last chapter! :D I loved writing this and I thank you all so much for the lovely response. :) **

**WARNING: This chapter contains self-wroth issues and suicidal thoughts. Just wanted to put it out there. **

**Anyways, once again, thank you for the support! **

**Enjoy! :D **

* * *

**Three: Dean, Thank you.**

_Sam watched in horror as Dean raised the gun, bringing it level to Sam's chest. _

_"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked, working hard to keep his voice calm. _

_"I'm sorry, Sammy. I can't anymore. I can't do this," Dean said, emotionless._

_"Do what?" Sam asked, warily. _

_"I can't save you anymore, Sam. This is just going too far." _

_Sam felt his heart skip a beat. It was like he was living his worst nightmare. One in which Dean had lost faith in him. _

_"Dean, we can figure this out. Put down the gun. Please. This is not you." _

_"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said as he pulled the trigger. _

Sam gasped as his eyes snapped open. Realizing he was sprawled on the floor of the bathroom in the diner, he slowly sat up and leaned against the wall opposite the sink for support.

The pounding in his head told him that this was not a nightmare, but a vision.

A vision in which Dean decided that killing Sam was better and probably easier than trying to save him.

"No," Sam mouthed to himself.

This could not be happening. Why would Dean do this?

Sam shakily got to his feet. Sam had stormed out a while ago because of yet another fight they'd had. He needed to get to Dean before anything happened.

Because this could not be true.

Dean could not lose faith in Sam, especially when Sam hardly had faith in himself.

**XXX**

**A FEW HOURS AGO**

Sam sat at a table at the far corner of the library, eyes glued to his laptop and fingers tapping rapidly on the keys. Dean sat opposite him going through old records, newspapers and everything else they'd managed to ask the librarian for.

"Dude, this is getting us nowhere. There's nothing about weird fires or deaths or any damn thing related to the demon here. Not even in other close by towns," Dean grumbled as he tossed aside yet another newspaper.

Sam sighed as he cracked his fingers. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong place. This is a carnival right? They move around. Maybe the person we're looking for isn't from around here."

Dean shrugged, looking annoyed.

"Okay. We know that this has something to do with the demon," Sam continued. "Probably some guy like me with some freaky ability. That guy who killed Bryce. He looked confused, like he didn't know what was going on. Could this guy have the power to—I don't know—control people's mind's without them knowing it?"

Dean frowned. "You mean someone like Andy?"

Sam nodded. "Maybe."

"But then how do you explain Wendy being killed? Martin said he saw his father killing Wendy," Dean argued, "and that guy is supposed to be dead."

"I...don't know. Man, this is just a hunch. I'm just trying to make sense of the whole pile of mess we have here," Sam explained

Dean nodded and they then sat in silence for a while as Dean resumed going through old town records and Sam scoured the internet for signs related to the yellow-eyed demon.

Sam looked up from his laptop screen a few minutes later to see Dean's face scrunched slightly in pain as he rubbed at his chest. A block of guilt settled in Sam's stomach as he realized that Dean had been attacked yesterday and, after getting back to the motel, Dean had practically flopped into bed and fallen asleep, never having given Sam a chance to check on him.

Sam had been too engrossed in his own thoughts to even think about waking Dean up to check on him. _Great_, he thought. Yet another thing to tick off the list of 'I am a shitty brother.'

"You okay?" Sam asked, giving Dean a chance to admit it himself.

"Yeah, fine."

Sam stared at his brother, knowing full well that Dean was lying.

After a few minutes, Dean sighed. "Dude, I'm fine. It just hurts a little, okay? I'm fine."

Making a mental note to check on Dean's injury once they were back in the motel, Sam let the matter fall.

An hour or so of more research yielded no results and soon enough, Sam decided that they should head back to the motel and figure out their next step.

Dean readily agreed and soon enough, both of them were back the motel.

As Sam closed the motel room door behind him, he eyed Dean with concern as Dean sat down on the bed with a hiss of pain that he did not manage to hide very well. Debating with the idea of confronting Dean or just letting it slide for now, Sam finally decided on confronting Dean. If this injury ended up being worse than he thought, he would never forgive himself.

Sam walked over to Dean, knelt in front of him and said, "Pull your shirt up."

"Wha-?" Dean asked, confused.

"I want to know how bad it is," Sam said.

"Sammy – "

"Dean just, please. I'll leave you alone after that, but just let me make sure it's not worse."

Dean sighed as he did as Sam said. Sam gasped as he spotted the slightly discolored, blackish mark on one side of Dean's chest. He slowly poked around the wound, checking for any damage to the ribs underneath. Dean grunted as Sam touched the wound, but otherwise, didn't say much.

Sam then proceeded to check on the bullet wound in Dean's shoulder, guilt immediately settling in as he examined it.

After a few moments, Sam sighed in relief, "You'll live," he said.

"Obviously," Dean muttered as he pulled his shirt back down. "Dude, what's up with you?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, an eyebrow raised.

"You've been…off. Ever since the whole Meg fiasco, which you know I don't blame you for in the slightest. You know I'm not the 'pour my heart out' guy. But dude, something's bothering you and I just wanna know if I can help," Dean said.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. Dean didn't _get_ it. "It's…leave it be, man. You won't understand."

"What won't I understand, Sam!? That's all I've ever heard from you these past few days! I'm _trying_ to understand. So help me here."

Sam got to his feet, feeling agitated. "I know, okay? I know you're trying to understand. But you won't. You don't know what this feels like! You don't know what it's like to feel yourself shoot your brother, and watch him fall off the edge of a pier. You don't know what it's like to be around you and hear some goddamn demon think about all sorts of horrible things she could do you just because she knows you won't hurt me.

"You don't know what it feels like to know that you got hurt yesterday, and I didn't even bother to check on you. Every fucking thing that's happening to us right now? It's because of me! Dad died because of me, because my luck sucks and some goddamn demon wants me. You nearly died because of me. Jo probably hates me right now because of all the shit Meg said to her through my fucking body. If Bobby hadn't managed to burn this mark off my arm," Sam shoved his right sleeve up to expose the now slowly healing obscured binding sigil on his arm. "I would have probably ended up killing you both. I sliced an innocent hunter's neck. He probably has kids or something who now have to live without their father and don't know who killed him.

"Believe me, Dean. I wish you could understand, but you can't. Because you've never been as fucked up as I am. You've never had to watch as people around you have died. You've never had to be the freak."

Needing to be anywhere but in the motel room, Sam picked up his jacket off his bed and walked over to the door, not bothering to give another glance to his brother as he left.

**XXX**

**PRESENT TIME**

"Sam, pick up the goddamn phone," Dean muttered as he impatiently paced around the motel room. Sam had been gone for a full hour. And Dean was trying to call him for the third time now.

Fear settled into his stomach as horrifying scenarios popped into his head.

"No," he told himself sternly. Sam was going to be okay, he had to be.

Dean rushed over to Sam's laptop and hoped that Sam's GPS was turned on. He almost cried in relief when he realized it was. The relief turned into confusion as he realized that Sam seemed to be back at the carnival.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, concerned. What would Sam be doing back at the carnival when they'd gotten back from there not long ago?

_Screw this_, Dean thought as he picked up his jacket and car keys and rushed out the door, intent on only one thing.

Finding Sam.

**XXX**

Pain pounding an incessant rhythm inside his head, Sam slammed the brakes making the car come to a standstill. He'd known it was dangerous to drive right after he'd had a vision but he didn't have time. Sam had been at a diner near their motel room, after he'd walked out on Dean, when the headache had begun. Knowing what was going to happen, he'd rushed into the bathroom of the diner.

The vision had shaken him up because he couldn't understand it. Why would Dean want to kill him? Was he giving up already? Had Dean finally had enough of trying to save him?

Did the person who was causing this get to Dean?

Sam had realized that the Dean from his vision had been in the Maze of Mirrors, a common attraction at carnivals. Sam stumbled out of the car, nearly face planting onto asphalt.

"Dean," he breathed as he hurriedly made his way towards the large tents and stalls set up for the carnival. If he wasn't here for his brother, he'd have appreciated the work that went into setting up all this, especially with people like these, who had the whole thing down to a fine art, as they moved the setup from state to state to perform.

It took longer than he thought, but he finally stood outside the Maze of Mirrors. Sam knew that this could be a trap. If his hunch was right, the person who was causing this could probably be controlling Dean.

In that case, there would be no way Sam could get through to him unless Dean fought it.

Steeling himself, Sam opened the door of the maze and slowly walked in, pulling out his gun, just in case.

He warily navigated the maze, bumping into a mirror once or twice but catching no sight of Dean.

"Heya, Sammy," came a familiar voice from behind him.

Before Sam could turn around however, a blow to the back of head brought him to his knees as his gun clattered to the floor a few feet away from him. The pain in his head went up a notch as Sam willed himself to not pass out.

"Heya, Sammy," repeated the voice.

Sam squinted up at and felt his heart sink as he saw Dean holding his gun. His vision was so close to being true. Sam needed Dean to snap out of this.

"Dean," Sam said, cautious as he unsteadily got to his feet. "What are you doing?" he asked as he held out his hands in front of him, palms facing Dean.

Dean pursed his lips as he twirled the gun in his hands. "I think it's pretty obvious, isn't it, Sammy?"

Sam gulped. "Dean, this isn't you. Put down the gun. We can talk this out."

"Oh, it's me all right. Y'know, Sam? I've thought a lot about what Dad said. And to be frank, I get him. He'd told me to save you, or kill you. So the choice is mine, at the end, yeah?"

"So you want to kill me?" Sam asked, numb. He knew this couldn't be his brother. This could not be Dean. Because if it was, then Sam would have nothing to live for. If Dean lost faith in him, he'd have nothing left.

"I'm thinking about it. You may be a good kid. Sam, but you're still a huge pain in my ass. So, as much as I hate to do this," Dean sighed and slowly brought the gun level with Sam's chest.

"Dean,' Sam warned. "I know I've screwed up, okay? But please, don't do this. This isn't you."

Dean chuckled, sending a chill down Sam's spine. The laugh didn't sound like Dean at all. "Screwed up? My life is hell because of you. I've been doing a lot of thinking, Sam. Mom died because of you. I always got shit from Dad because of you. You left me alone when you ran off for Stanford. Did you even think how it would affect me?"

A lump formed in Sam's throat. He blinked furiously as he fought to keep the tears at bay. Dean was right. He'd done nothing but cause trouble for Dean and his father. The reason any of this was happening was because of his connection with the Yellow Eyed Demon.

Dean was right.

Sam deserved to die.

His hands fell limply to his sides as he stared at Dean. He wasn't going to argue anymore. He saw realization dawn on Dean. Dean flicked off the safety in the gun.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes, a single tear slipping through. A yell of pain from Dean along with the sound of two gunshots being fired one after another made his eyes snap open.

A white hot pain radiated from his torso. Stunned, he look down and his eyes widened at the alarming red around his torso.

His legs felt like jelly as he stumbled backwards, and fell to the floor.

He gasped in agony as his hands clutched the fabric around his wound. His eyes went in and out of focus as blackness slowly started to invade the corners of his vision.

He heard yet another shot being fired and wondered what was going on.

"Sammy," said a voice. It sounded distant, yet familiar.

"De'n?" Sam breathed.

"Fuck, Sammy? Shit, look at me, man. I'm right here," said Dean.

Sam wondered if Dean was being controlled after all. He sounded scared. But why would Dean be scared? He shouldn't be. The one cause of all his problems was dying. Sam had already made peace with it. He knew how much pain he'd caused his brother. Even if Dean had been under someone else's control, he was okay with this.

Because sooner or later, he would have had to die anyway. He would have gone dark side at some point.

Sam's hand aimlessly searched for Dean's. He smiled faintly when Dean immediately caught a hold of it.

"Sammy, please. Don't you fucking dare clock out on me. Shit," Dean pleaded, sounding even more distant to Sam.

Sam gripped Dean's hand and worked to look into his brother's eyes. "'S okay, De'n," he gasped.

A few more tears escaped as he saw the broken expression in Dean's face.

"Thank you," Sam whispered as he finally gave in to the blackness pulling him under.

**XXX**

The first thing Sam felt was a dull, persistent throb over his torso and his back, as well as heaviness over the right side of his chest.

His eyes felt heavy and it took him quite some effort to open them.

"Sam?" asked Dean, concern in his tone.

Sam blinked sluggishly and tried to bring his brother into focus. As his eyes landed on Dean, he tried to speak out and ended up coughing. It sent a jolt of pain through his chest and he gasped, tears stinging his eyes.

"Easy," Dean soothed as he carefully adjusted Sam's bed so he was half sitting, half lying down. He brought a straw to Sam's lips and Sam slowly drank the water and let it soothe his parched throat.

"Dean?"

"Right here, Sammy."

Sam's eyes finally landed on Dean and he felt worry slither into him. Dean's hair stood out in odd places like he'd been running his hand over and over through it. There were dark bags under his eyes which were red-rimmed like he'd been crying. His clothes were mismatched, like he hadn't even seen what he was putting on.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking shaken up. "You…you got shot. The bullet went through and through so you lost a lot of blood. You were barely breathing when I got you here, man. The docs were saying all sorts of scary shit and I just tried to zone it out." Dean's breathing became ragged, and his eyes darted from Sam to the machines that beeped nearby. "After they managed to patch you up," he continued, "they said that they couldn't tell if you'd make it. You had a punctured lung."

Sam looked at Dean, utter shock on his face.

"You've been out for about four or five days now. You flat-lined three times. You scared the fuck outta me, Sammy. But about a day ago you started showing signs of improvement and well…here we are now. Don't you fucking even dare do that to me again, you hear?"

Sam hung his head, feeling guilty. He knew how his brother would have felt. He'd been in the same place a few months ago. Seeing Dean in a coma when their Dad had still been alive.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, sincere.

"Nah, don't. It – it wasn't your fault. It's just…after Dad and…I can't lose you, okay?"

Sam nodded, even though he felt confused. Memories from what had happened were coming back. And as far as he could remember, Dean was the one that shot him in the first place.

He decided to talk about that later. Dean looked like hell. He probably hadn't even slept. Sam felt guilty that he was the reason, yet again, for the cause of Dean's distress.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

Dean frowned. "Am I okay?" he asked, disbelief etched in his features. "Sam, you nearly died and you're asking me if I'm okay."

"But, I thought…" Sam trailed away, feeling more out of the loop than ever.

"What, Sam?" Dean asked, gently.

Sam took a shaky breath. Screw it. He needed to know. This couldn't wait until later. "Dean, I saw…I saw you shoot me. You – you told me that you couldn't save me anymore. T-that I was the reason your life was fucked. What…? Dean, I deserved to die. Why the hell did you bring me here?" Sam asked, panic setting in.

"Hey. First of all, I need you to calm down. Come on, now. Breathe," Dean coaxed. He waited until Sam was composed again and then said, "Dude, how can you even think that I'd ever do that to you? I…I didn't shoot you, Sam. It was Tim. That kid we saw the first time we stopped by to see Wendy."

Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise. "W-what? Tim? But…I saw you killing me. I mean, I had a vision of you killing me. I thought…maybe someone was controlling you, like with Andy."

"No one was controlling me, Sam. You didn't come back to the motel and I, I freaked out, okay? I tracked down your phone and saw it lying in the stolen rust bucket you probably drove. It took me while to get to you, to find you. I saw Tim holding your gun to your chest and I didn't understand why you weren't fighting against him. You could have easily taken him. I thought maybe he was doing something to you and I couldn't risk you getting hurt so I shot at his hand but that only ended up in him pulling the trigger and hitting you anyway. He tried to shoot me back and I didn't have any other choice but to kill him.

"Fuck, Sam, I'm sorry. I should…I screwed up. If we hadn't fought, none of this would have happened," Dean said as he hung his head in his hands.

"No, don't. This is not on you. I…I wasn't seeing Tim, Dean. I was seeing you. Talking to me. I didn't understand. But…then I did. Maybe you thought killing me was better than saving me and I wasn't gonna argue with that. Every damn kid we've seen so far has gone dark side. There's no guarantee that I won't either."

"You don't get to say that, Sam. Not after all this. I told you before and I'm gonna say it over and over again until I drill it into your head. You are not going dark side. You have something those kids don't. You have me, as lame as that sounds. As long as I'm around, nothing's gonna happen to you. And I'd rather die than kill you. I think the whole Meg fiasco proved that. And I don't blame you for the Meg thing either so you can shut that trap of yours now and get some rest," Dean stated, finality in his tone.

Sam considered everything Dean said and after a while, he couldn't help but smile to himself. "Thank you," he said to Dean.

"Don't mention it. Like seriously, don't."

Sam chuckled. They sat in silence for a while as exhaustion slowly started to set in for Sam. But he fought it to ask one last burning question in his mind. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why was Tim doing this though? Killing those people? And, how was I seeing you and not him when you weren't even there?" Sam asked.

Dean's brow furrowed as he seemed to be figuring out how to phrase something. "I looked him up. His name is Timothy Bank. Wendy and Bryce were just collateral damage, I think. Remember when you'd told me about Martin and Bryce being involved in the bank robbery? Well, the woman that died, her name was Jenna. That bracelet I found was hers. Jenna was Tim's mom. And like you'd said, there was hardly any evidence. And the few people that decided to act as witnesses in court backed out last minute.

"I think Tim wanted to avenge his mom, by taking away what was dear to them. Martin loved Wendy and I'm pretty sure Bryce and the other guy had something too. Friendship or otherwise.

"And you're saying you saw me, not Tim? Maybe that was his power. Martin saw his dead father killing Wendy remember? Maybe Tim was able to make the person see what he wanted them to see."

Sam laid silent for a while, trying to understand what Dean meant. "But Dean, he…he knew. About mom, and Jess and Stanford. How..?"

Dean ran a tired hand over his face. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe he could tap into thoughts or memories or some shit, like a shifter. I don't think we'll ever know. Tim's dead, Sam. And as soon as you're better, we need to pack up camp and head out of this place before anyone finds out I killed him."

Sam nodded. A sense of despair settled into him. Yet another kid dead. A killer. How could Dean be so sure that nothing would happen to Sam?

"Don't think too much, Sam, you're gonna hurt yourself," Dean teased.

Sam snorted, letting go of his thoughts for once. Dean was right.

"Sleep, Sasquatch. I'll be right here."

Sam obeyed and finally allowed himself to drift towards dreamland.

Sam knew things were far from okay with the Yellow Eyed Demon still out there. They still had a lot of healing to do, and it would be a while before Sam could let go of what had happened when he was possessed. But he knew one thing. As long as Dean had faith in him, Sam was sure they were gonna be okay.

**END**

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